


even when you're standing up, you look like you're lying down.

by Guts



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guts/pseuds/Guts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm battling monsters, I'm pulling you out of burning buildings and you say <span class="italic">I'll give you anything</span> but you never come through</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wishbone by Richard Siken

"Its unholy." Maka's at the breakfast table with her boots on the table and the hairbrush Soul shoved at her earlier stuck down her shirt where her cleavage would start if she had any.  
Soul is drinking black coffee and studying.  
"Its not normal." she says.  
A slice of bacon is hanging from her mouth as she chews around it to speak.  
"What's ACTUALLY unholy and abnormal is the fact that you're almost ahead of me in class standing."  
Soul replies, irritation in his tone as he adjusts the tidy ponytail at the back of his head and glares at Maka.  
She shrugs sheepishly, and grins with the pink slip of her tongue between her teeth.  
Soul is not looking at the way her fangs catch the light.  
"My father was a drunk, professor."  
She says, blinking and pouting.  
"He came home so late last night, SO drunk. I was too worried to do my homework." Her face goes through transformations at every turn.

He has to admit, she's a good liar.  
He moves to push her boots off the table and her lips curve.  
She looks like a horror story. Her five ponytails are geographically pinpointed to look horrible and keep her long hair out of her face.  
Her uniform of a yellow and black jacket and black pants is scuffed, muddy, torn, is that blood?, and generally just in shitty shape.  
Soul actually does not know how she has done this.  
And Soul know a lot of things.  
At ten years old, Soul was already being groomed to be a powerful meister.  
At the current age of sixteen, He's over half way there.  
The meister is only as powerful as the weapon, they say and Gods above, Death below, Soul hopes that is bullshit.  
Maka is a surly, drooling, lazy girl focused on being cool and when he sees her bare back in his weapon and the solitary curve of her spine,  
it makes him so unhappy and unsure of himself that he falters and she laughs. 

Keeping Maka in line is like holding onto the hand of a five year old that wants ten things at once.  
Meister/Weapon housing was provided since they were very young and the learning curve around each other has been a rough one. 

Soul smacked her upside the head a lot, in the beginning and Maka was eternally kicking him in the shins with her combat boots.  
Clothes in the dishwasher, dishes in the couch.  
Soul was thankful it was over.  
So thankful.  
"What're we doing today?" Maka says, her knee up by her face as she reties her combat boot strings. Her green eyesare lowered, and the dull sweep of lash makes Souls stomach churn.  
They warn you about this.  
That as girls and boys, you and your weapon will become more aware of each other as puberty takes its hold.  
Cautionary tales of the toll on your wavelength, sex and dating take.  
To refrain from trying to stare at their boobs when you see them inside the weapon. 

But its hard.  
Its hard being young and always having to shove food and textbooks at Maka.  
Soul is finished with his coffee and he rises to put it in the sink.  
Maka puts her leg in front of him, her thigh the size of both his hands, thumbs and middle fingers touching to make asmall circle.  
The platform of her boot is steeled on the cabinet beside him, her leg an arc between him and the kitchen.  
"Do you like me?" She says breathily.  
And he imagines Maka ridiculously, asking him to tell her she's cool, she's the coolest and thats it.  
Thats the end of his thinking.  
He straightens his tie and collects himself, breathing deeply.  
"Maka." He says in monotone, but he knows she catches the gruffness that catches his voice.  
"What?" She breathes, eyes the size of the moon, pizza pie, thats l 'amour.  
"We're late." he says and uses his knuckles to shove against her leg until she gives laughingly.  
She grabs her bag and they're off.  
Thy're out the door, and he's bullying her into putting her hair into one ponytail, she fights him and they settle for two high on her head.  
She's bullying him into not wearing a helmet on her motorcycle when they get there.  
"This is it." Soul says, staring at her.  
She grins lazily and steps off her bike, stretching.  
"Dont sweat it, serious-face! I'll be cool. Always am."  
Soul snorts.  
"Depends on your definition of cool, I'd think. Does it include drooling on everything within five feet?"  
"Hey!" She says,  
"Im cool." She's a little grumpy and upset as she settles onto the stairs, crouching to rest her hands on her knees.  
"Wheres the asshole?"  
"Maka.  
" Soul says. She can tell he's serious and he wants her to be serious too.  
"Yeah, yeah." She sighs. The slickness of her mouth where saliva is leaking shines in the moonlight.  
Soul eyes are enormous in the dark, the red color luminous.  
There is a soul at the bottom of the stairs that is dangerous and licking blood off its lips and the beginning of a keshin.  
"Lets do it, Maka. His soul is mine" Soul says.  
Maka smiles,  
"Yeah. Lets do it."  
She transforms and he is moving fast as light, as air, as his fingertips tapping a nervous beat in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

A boy walks out of a forest.   
He walks out of a forest with his hands at his sides, empty and open, like a strangers face.  
A boy walks out of a forest with his hands full of blood.

Maka shakes awake.   
She looks at her clock and it says one.  
One, two and three in the morning.   
She is strangely, electrically awake. 

She gets up, groggy, pads to Souls room.

"Soul."  
She says, her voice catches in the silence.  
Harsh, rusty. 

"Mrphh." Soul says emphatically.  
This is a very good example of times a weapon has a special bond with their meister.  
For example, 'Mrph' directly translates to 'Fuck off.' in soul-is-sleeping language.  
Maka may be fluent, but she sure isn't listening.

"A boy walks out of the forest."  
She says, tripping bodily over the words. 

"What? What the hell. Maka?" Soul is grumbling, sitting up and rubbing his eyes hard.   
"Are you having the dreams again?"   
Yes. He knows she is.   
Tuesday night, the dragon wakes up, the dragon eats the village, Maka is the hero. Where is her sword?  
She eats the dragon.

Sunday night, she is the dragon.   
Her ribs hurt. 

Wednesday, She is in the ocean and Soul is floating above her, his monkey toes kicking the water.  
'Maka.' He is saying.   
She is sinking.  
She speaks to him but only bubbles fly from her.

 

Soul is careful, tells her its not bad, it just is something.  
To be careful. Punches her chest and asks why she didn't tell him earlier.   
His eyes look wet and she wonders where the moon is.   
It is dark outside. 

His eyes are shining and she knows, he is not wearing a shirt under the covers. 

No shirt and that there are textbooks in his bed, where he has read them and they collect.   
Her breath is catching and she is alone in the forest, watching the wolf and wanting to eat it. 

A boy walks out of the forest, his hands full of blood.   
"Im-"  
She says.  
Soul is waiting, warily, expectantly.   
She makes a choking noise and says "Go to sleep."  
She flees downstairs and makes herself coffee and finds a bag of chips that Soul would chide her for eating. 

She sits on the roof until the sun comes up, and she is careful to hold her hands closed.   
Soul comes downstairs at eight, combed and careful, eyes sleepy.

They take her bike to school, and when she sees the butchers boy with his bloody hands open and hanging down walking to market, she stares at him until Soul smacks her,  
Asks her if she actually knows how to drive or did she just steal the hunk of crap.

He knows all the answers to his questions and when he walks into school ahead of her, she stares at the heave of his shoulders and knows infinitely, doubtlessly, what is inside of him.  
Light.   
The kind that shines on mountains and clouds and makes them more lovely.   
She wonders absently what is inside of her.   
Only want and the consuming kind of darkness that blacks out even the purest light. 

She breathes.


	3. Chapter 3

"What happens if I get out of here?" You ask the little man.   
His shoulders roll like water and unnervingly, he breaks no eye contact with you.  
"What happens if you don't?" He rasps.   
The room is detailed like a checkerboard and a monstrous, shining, black piano sits in it.   
Soul sits at it, gnaws his lip. 

His teeth flat as piano keys, you already know the sharp curve of your own.   
"What big teeth you have." He says softly. 

You're awake, with sun and Soul in your eyes,  
"Get up. I thought you wanted to look cool today. We dont have much time,"  
"Grnghf" You say. Very cool, Very dangerous. A definite cool thing to say. 

You feel like you've been dreaming forever.   
No portion, no fraction of your life cast in the bright relief of wakefulness.   
All you do is sleep, Soul says at dinner, points it out with his fork. 

But you're still tired.  
You're still thinking of demons.

You're still wondering why you get stuck with bad luck that runs like a waterfall, why your bond with Soul grows weaker by the minute.  
Every day, the same thing.   
Bike, School, Home. 

When people say hello, it just starts to sound like them asking if the tool is sharp.   
If the hammer is ready. 

You put your hands on the frame of your skull and you breathe in as long as you can, you exhale longer.

Soul says you're out of tune and that meditating might help.  
The calm lock of his eyes forcing you to agree.

A sensible Meister.  
A smart Meister.  
A talented Meister.

No matter where you go, they whisper about him.   
Handsome, girls say.  
Brave, boys laugh.  
Young, Adults whisper.  
So young. 

His face is beginning to define itself and you are vaguely, regrettably reminded that you are still a beanpole child, turning her arm into a blade to scare her classmates. 

You absently turn your arm into a weapon and back, metal, flesh.   
Cool, warm.  
Machine, human. 

"Whats been going on with you lately?" Soul probes but you say 'nothing'.   
'Absolutely nothing. Not a thing. Cool girls like me don't have problems'  
He tells you are stubborn but you are tired of things you already know.   
You wonder if you will win, in the end. 

You wonder what you would not do to protect your Meister.   
"Nothing."  
Soul speaks and you look up, expectantly, if you had ears they would perk.   
"Nothing to eat." He reiterates.   
Hand on sweatered stomach, his face is dejected.   
"Lets go to the store."

He steps into the street and turns and looks at you, cars barely splashing him from where they stream in the veins of city. 

"Come on, you cool kid." He's not smiling,but he might as well be.   
You snag his sweater and tug him to the sidewalk as a taxi nearly flattens him.

You catch the look of wariness.   
Of distrust in his eyes when you grabbed his sweater. 

You feel as cracked a fault line.   
You touch your head again and smile sheepishly, elbow him,  
"You're welcome."  
He snorts and walks ahead of you, the flick of his eyelashes every few minutes as he keeps track of you,   
a single, tiny, red dot on his screen.   
You wonder what he is worried you will do, or what you won't do.   
"Nothing."  
He says again, and you wince.   
Wince a prayer 'A please Death, please anyone, don't let mind reading be a thing Soul can do,'  
But its not.   
"Nothing to eat at all. We need to go shopping more."  
Soul says.   
You wonder what you're so afraid he will see in your head.

The answer is obvious. 

Everything


End file.
